


Lion Hearted Girl

by SharaMichaels



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 08:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13244820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharaMichaels/pseuds/SharaMichaels
Summary: She has always had courage, but for what she's about to do, she is going to need so much more than that.





	Lion Hearted Girl

**Author's Note:**

> A different take on "Sakura's resolve" (episodes 212-215; Naruto Shippuden). Despite this anime being hundreds of episodes long, I still feel like Sakura didn't get enough screen time or character development; it's a pity, since I was under the impression she was on the main characters. This one-shot doesn't aim to fix all that. I just wanted to explore her abilities a little more (on the emotional front rather than physical) and give her a bigger voice. I also just really enjoy writing conversations and I feel like the anime lacks a lot of well written dialogue; characters sustain their individual monologues and it feels like they don't communicate well with each other.  
> Oh well. There are many things wrong in this anime, many things I would have wanted to see done differently, but at the end of day, Sakura and Sasuke are two of my absolute favourite characters and I couldn't restrain myself from exploring their characters through the means of fanfiction. I like it and I hope you'll like it too; if only just a little.

 

 

The final sacrifice.

She didn’t think it would come to this. Well, maybe that wasn’t quite right. The thought did cross her mind, but she couldn’t bear to linger on it and has always hoped, always prayed, that her puerile dreams would somehow come true.

She dreamed that he would somehow see the error in his ways and fight the darkness out of his soul. That he will come home. Bruised and battered and exhausted, but home, still. 

Standing in the ruins of her village, cleaning out wounds and soothing broken hearts, she has never been more aware of the presence of evil in the world. She washes her hands and wipes the sweat away from her forehead and she feels oh so naïve. And, more than anything, _ashamed_. Not just for her pathetic dreams and childish hopes, but even more so for putting that weight on Naruto’s shoulders, too.

It is night-time and she finally catches a break. She’s outside, sitting on a rock, looking up at the moon.

_He’s a criminal. A murderer. He’s a terrorist. He’s a bad, bad person. He’s… he’s such an idiot._

She utters the words out loud. They are heavy and coarse and speaking them feels like ripping out little pieces of her heart. Her hands are balled into fists and she pushes them deep into the stone, as she forces the poisonous words out of her mouth. She needs to say these things out loud, needs to convince herself of this reality. He was never going to come home. He was never going to love her. Everything hurts: the hands, the tongue, the heart. The memory of him.

The tears slip free and she lets them. Once there was a boy with dark hair and dark eyes, and she loved him because he was pretty and strong and oh so mysterious. Then he was a teammate, with a past that pained him, with invisible scars that tormented him, with a fear of losing so consuming it frightened her childish heart. There were many times when she held him and a few times when he held her, and she thought she knew him. Oh, how wrong she was… She naively – and so selfishly – thought she could save him on her own. In the dark, her trembling arms wrap around her own body, nails digging deep into her shoulders, as if to rid herself of the nightmare.

This is who he is now. Maybe who he has always been. _An avenger_. He said it himself, didn’t he, then, during the exams, in that damned forest, the root of all horrors. She didn’t want to understand, stubbornly tried to keep herself in the dark. _It cannot be_. _It’s just the cursed mark. That cannot be where his heart lies._

Wrong again. Wrong always. Both her and Naruto, for that matter. She stands now in the ruins of her home, exhausted by an attack so vicious, and realizes there is no neutral side. There is only evil and those ready to defeat it… and, with each passing second, it becomes clearer and clearer on which side _he_ stands.

She wipes out the tears and looks up at the stars. They’re beautiful and his name forces its way up to her lips. It stings, but she says it out loud, and cannot repress the thought that maybe somewhere, maybe even close by, he’s sitting just like her, watching the sky. Hope dies last, but now hope feels like a hook clung to her heart, yanking it towards sentiments she can no longer allow herself to feel.

A love that cannot be has left her girl heart sore. And she’s no longer a girl. She’s a soldier. She mutters the word out loud and it scares her at first, but then courage builds up within her and her shoulders, bearing the red marks of her pathetic desperation, straighten. She stands with her village, with her _home_ , with her _people_. He is a threat to everything she holds dear. The thought is unsettling, frightening, and the heart revolts, but she clutches her hands over her chest and stills it. He is a threat not only to the world, but to himself as well And she’s a medic, a savior, a mender of all pains. A bitter smile creeps on her lips as she settles onto her resolve.

“It’s for the best,” she whispers in the dark. “For him as much as for everybody else.”

*****

_It’s you, Sakura._

She didn’t think the mere sound of his voice would affect her this much. She was prepared, she was ready, and yet her heart still fluttered when he uttered her name. It took all the strength in her body to keep her composure, but no part of her misbehaved: the knees did not wobble, the face did not flinch, the voice never wavered. She answered his questions calmly, just as she had rehearsed.

The blow was meant to wipe her out. She thought herself ready to counter, but the wounded woman distracted her enough for him to sneak up on her. She would have been dead, had it not been for Sensei… and yet she couldn’t help being mad at him. Did he not believe in her strength, did he think she was still nothing more than a silly girl, with a pathetic crush? She was crying, yet again, and hated herself for the breach in her studied composure. The red haired girl was staring and she hated herself even more. She was always in the rear, fixing people, never making the decisions. Always letting other fight her battles.

The girl seems fine now and Sakura stands tall in the wind. Her fists are set, her features hard as steel, her mind ready.

“We’ll be back for you,” she shouts back and flees.

There was a time when she was weak, nothing more than a small girl with dreams bigger than her muscles, with aspirations more complex than her abilities. But she was likable and people around her always offered to help, so she let them carry her worries and her problems and her dreams, so often that it became natural. This time, she can’t let them do that anymore. To take a life away implies taking in a darkness only she is prepared to bear; her life has been good and there is enough light inside her to ease the burden. This time, her teammates need to be spared. It is her turn to shoulder the darkness of their worlds.

He’s unwell, probably already exhausted from his previous fight. It is the opening she was waiting for, exactly the breech that she needed. A fight sparks inside her – she’s a medic now, and her instincts, jumbled together with that burning sentiment of love, revolt. For a brief second, he is nothing but a man in pain, a human being in need of care; but her indecision lasts no more than that. Reason triumphs over instinct, over fear, over sentiment – _I won’t let Kakashi-sensei bear the burden!_ – and she plunges forward.

He stumbles backwards, right toward where she’s standing. The knife is clutched in her hand; she holds it firmly, hangs onto it with every bit of strength she can muster. She brings the knife upward and points it to the middle of his back. She’s ready, she has to be, but her hand betrays her, and it wavers. She watches in shock as the wrist trembles and tears wet her cheeks once again. The memories of their time together flash before her eyes, so quickly she can barely catch them. Here they are at the academy, in the forest of death, during the mission in the land of waves, in the hospital room, at the gate of the village. _You really are annoying_. It’s not the sentence her mind fights to recall, she knows it’s a completely different moment the one she struggles against. She mustn’t let that one lone word decide this moment, she mustn’t falter. He walked away. He could have stayed in the village, could have asked for help. He didn’t have to go, but he did. _He left me, us_. Her mind fastens on his image with his back turned away from her, walking out of his home, and the hand steadies.

In one swift motion, the knife slices across his back. He shudders, groans in pain and surprise and turns on his heels. Time slows down as his gaze brushes hers and she braces for impact. His hand grips her throat. Tight. Decided. It’s a death grip. She closes her eyes and doesn’t fight it. All she had to do now is count.

_Don’t worry, Kakashi-sensei._

Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. The splashes of color behind her closed lids begin to fade. The darkness eats at her strength. She has dug her nails into her palms to keep herself conscious; that small pain is slowly fading now. Hang in there. You can do this. Just as you rehearsed. Forty-three. Forty-four. Forty-five. His grip is slowly uncurling. The fingers around her neck are slowly slipping away and they feel cold, so cold it’s alarming.

_It worked._

It’s scary to think she has managed to poison him, but, in the same time, she cannot deny an odd pride tugging at her heart. She did it. Despite sensei’s doubt and despite her own fickle heart, _she did it_.

His hand drops and she opens her eyes. It takes a mountain of strength to keep herself afloat. She coughs and devours the air in loud intakes, but she’s alive. Her neck hurts, _but she’s alive_. He went underwater; she can still see the shadow of his shirt. She dives after him and brings him on the surface. Kakashi’s eyes meet hers. His gaze exudes admiration, worry, horror, everything bundled together. He rushes towards her and relieves her of the weight of the inert body.

“Sakura… Are you all right?”  

She’s out of the water now. Her chakra concentrates on her feet and she steadies herself, leaning a hand against the bridge pillar.

“I don’t know, Kakashi-sensei.”

She looks up at her teacher, carrying the defeated body of her old teammate. The boy she has loved… the boy she was ready to leave her life behind for. She wants to scream. And she wants to lie down. And, more than anything, she wants to cry.

“Is he dead?” She doesn’t know what to read in his tone. He seems tired too, and sad beyond belief.

“That depends. Do you want him to be?”

She only see a quarter of his face, but it’s easy to read the shock on those usually composed features.

“What do you mean?”

“The poison doesn’t kill him instantly. He lost conscience, but his heart won’t stop for the next twenty four hours or so. This is why I’m asking: do we need him dead or alive?”

He takes a minute to think it through; mustn’t take his own feelings into consideration.

“He holds a lot of valuable information to us. Who knows, maybe even the key to avoiding war. We’ll take him to the village.” A pause and then: “I’m proud of you, Sakura.”

*****

He’s a prisoner now and she – his guard. Everything is improvised in the battered village: the homes, the hospital, the prison. They’re in a wooden room, built at demand in a few hours. He’s tied up to a bed, completely incapacitated, unable to produce hand signs of any kind. However, he is still ill, and she insisted they don’t make a mockery of his recovery. He has a pillow and a blanket and an IV, and the Intel division promised they won’t rattle him until he’s ready to talk.

She sits on a stool and watches him sleep. He’s breathing softly and his face looks eerily peaceful. She finds herself thinking he’s beautiful and the thought unnerves her; but she’s tired and she allows herself this one weakness.

His eyebrows frown and his eyelids tremble. _He’s awake_. She takes a deep breath and prepares herself for the meeting. He opens his eyes. At first he looks confused, scared even – he lifts his head and searches the room seemingly alarmed – but then he sighs and falls back against the pillow. He glances around the room again and his eyes settle on her. There’s no surprise altering his features, only a bitter smile hanging at the corner of his mouth. He clears his throat and speaks in a coarse voice:

“Ah, you again.”

They stare at each other in silence. She’s not sure what the best course of action is. She’s not allowed to engage with him in any way, only to watch his recovery and notify the Intel division once he’s awake. But she cannot resist the opportunity of a conversation. As she’s searching for the right words, he talks again:

“What did you do to me, Sakura?”

“I killed you.”

Her calm tone surprises him. He closes his eyes for a long second and scoffs.

“And then you brought me back to life.”

“That had nothing to do with me. Were I alone, you would be on the bottom of that river now.”

A mocking smile curves his lips. “You’ve changed. I didn’t think you had it in you to kill _me_. As a matter of fact, I’m surprised they even let you guard me. Isn’t it a little risky?”

His words hit her like rocks. There is a package of tranquilizers in the cupboard next to his bed and it takes all her will power to refrain from injecting them into his IV.

“You’ve been down for almost three days. Naruto never moved from your side. I’m only here because he needed rest… and I’m the only one whom he trusted with this task.”

He glances down at his restraints and sighs. With his gaze still away from hers, he asks calmly:

“What happened to Karin?”

His question takes her by surprise; she’s not able to hide the change in her face and she’s glad he didn’t see it. She’s quick to assume Karin is the red haired girl he wanted dead and wonders what really went down between the two of them.

“She’s here. She’s being interrogated. She’s not very cooperative, or so I heard.” A pregnant pause, and then she clears her throat and continues: “Why did you want to kill her?”

He locks his eyes on hers. She flinches and reels backwards. This time there is no sly grin on his face and his tone is no longer condescending.

“She was my teammate. But because of her, I almost lost a very important battle. She was already dying, and I no longer needed her.”

“Is this what you do nowadays?” she asks and feels her blood heating up. “You toss away your teammates like used weapons, when they can no longer serve you?”

His face hardens. “My world is nothing but a string of tough decisions. Sometimes sacrifices must be made. I don’t expect you to be able to understand.”

She hates the answer and she hates the look in his eyes. Cold and detached and vague; he feels like a killing machine, a Sasuke striped of every feeling in his soul; a shell of the human he once was, left only with an all consuming hunger for revenge and brute force. Tears sting at the corner of her eyes.

“What happened to you, Sasuke-kun? Huh?” her voice picks up in volume and she fights to control it. “Why on Earth do you want to destroy Konoha?”

He frowns and tries to sit up, but the chains hold him back. “I have no obligation to respond to you. Why on Earth do _you_ want to know everything about me, all the time? If I wanted to tell you anything, I would have already done it!” his eyes blaze with fury. He yanks at the restraints and groans when they don’t budge. Concern glitters in Sakura’s eyes; he shakes his head, then adds in a softer tone: “Even if you knew, it wouldn’t matter. There’s nothing you could say, nothing you could do to stop me. There’s-” he hesitates, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. When he opens his lids again, his eyes seem to have lost their focus. “There’s a lot of darkness in this village. So much of it… Maybe _you_ haven’t felt it, but I did… It killed my family and it killed me, too. It’s not just revenge. It’s also revolution. It’s an inevitable change. I’m already a killer. What needs to be done has to be done, and I’m ready to live with the burden of these actions.”

There is a distinct sadness shining in his eyes. She acutely feels her own exhaustion and acknowledges that she’s reached the limit of her understanding. Maybe one day they’ll be able to talk, maybe one day she’ll be able to truly help him. For the moment, her anger subsides; her soul once again feels heavy, this time carrying only regret. When she talks again, her tone is bitter and steady:

“Well, someone beat you to it. The village has already been destroyed. As for the people…” Almost instinctively, she crosses her arms over her chest and straightens her shoulders. “You’re not killing anybody on my watch. Lest of all, Tsunade-sama. I’ll go get the Intel team.”

She doesn’t spare him another glance; she gets up and walks tall around the bed, heading for the door. Behind her, Sasuke settles against the pillow, head turned away from her, and sighs.

“Maybe… maybe it would have been better if you killed me.” His voice fades into a whisper. “At least I would have gotten to see them…”

She stops dead in her tracks. Suddenly she’s a child again, alone in a hospital room, heart overcome with joy to see him waking up. She leans a hand against the door frame, stifling the impulse to jump and embrace him.

“Well, I’m sorry, Sasuke. Maybe next time.”

He flinches with such force his bed and ties shake. She turns around with an alarmed look on her face.

“What did you say to me?” His voice is almost a yell and it throws her off balance.

“I just-” she takes a wobbly step in his direction. Her voice changes: it’s not soft and concerned, the voice she uses when talking to rattled patients and scared children. “Sasuke… what’s wrong?”

He takes a long breath and turns his face away from her.

“It was just a memory from long ago… Foolish of me to think it was anything special.”

She doesn’t see the tears in his eyes, but she can hear them in his voice, in the way it trails off and cuts to a sharp point - a breath strangled by a sob.

“There are many reasons why people try to kill other people,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not always out of revenge… or out of hate… Sometimes it can be out of _love_ , too.”

It’s a clumsy message, but it is the way she has intended it, with comfortable room for taking it back. She turns on her toes, pushes against the door, and walks out the room. Outside the village, the wind picks up speed and it carries the howls of inevitable war. Her heart feels heavy, burdened with all the feelings in the world, and her brain, too – it carries an abundance of contriving thoughts. But she’s not afraid. Not anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Yes, the title is a reference to a Florence and the Machine song. It was what prompted me to write this whole piece.)


End file.
